


Higher You Fly

by MirabileLectu



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Flying, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 06:45:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirabileLectu/pseuds/MirabileLectu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since he had been old enough to realize it, Martin had known that he was different. It wasn't just that he was constantly teased, or bullied, or ignored by every person in his life, nor was it that he was constantly told to get his head out of the clouds in more ways than one. No, what made Martin so very different that he felt as though he would never be able to fit in no matter how hard he tried was his wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Higher You Fly

Ever since he had been old enough to realize it, Martin had known that he was different. It wasn’t just that he was constantly told by everyone that he needed to get his head out of the clouds in more ways than one - that was something he had long ago accepted would never change no matter how he tried to explain the soaring glory of his dreams and received nothing more than sympathetic but disbelieving nod in return. Just the same, it was not the fact that he was ignored by every person in his life who should have mattered to him no matter how he tried to prove himself. That was unfortunate, true, but it was not what made him so very different that he felt as though he could never ever fit in no matter how he tried. It was his wings.

His wings, huge and cumbersome and so red they very nearly hurt his eyes, had marked him as different from the moment he was born. They were like no one else’s, nothing at all like the delicate, elegant, and well groomed wings that adorned everyone around him no matter how he searched for another like him. His mother’s wings had been a tawny gold, shining with the life and love she gave to her children, and his father’s a deep and beautiful black that matched the gruff and enduring strength of his soul. Simon and Caitlin had a matching set of grey wings that shone silver in the morning light, beautiful with understated simplicity. The other children at school had wings that were small enough to fold behind them in their seats, even the plainest and most uninteresting pair a lovely adornment that never dragged on ground or got tangled up in errant furniture or stood out like blinding signposts in every room. No, Martin’s wings were nothing at all like anyone else’s.

He learned to live with the teasing, and the strange looks, and the muttered comments that were not quite underhanded enough for him to miss them. He pulled his wings as close into his body as he could manage, making himself as small as possible in the vain hope that they could perhaps pass for the small and ornamental things that everyone else possessed. He hunched them into shadows to hide the glaringly red hue that matched his hair so embarrassingly, never wearing anything that would ever emphasize just how ruddy and orange they truly were. And when he joined MJN Air and found himself surrounded by the most elegantly sophisticated, sleekly powerful, and brilliantly cheery wings he could have ever wished for, he swallowed his jealousy and bore the jokes with quiet stoicism. There was nothing else he  _could_ do, after all.

But there was something else that was different about Martin. Something that, if it were known to anyone but himself, would have made him stand out far more than red feathers or unusually large bone structure. Something he had discovered in the long solitude of a life lived so very alone, a secret that he hoarded to himself for fear of what it meant for his life and how the world would react were he discovered. A secret that filled him with terror, and wonder, and the fiercest joy that he had ever known.

Because with his wings, his ugly, laughable, ridiculous wings, Martin Crieff could fly.

-

“Ew, what’s wrong with your wings? Why are they so big?”

“God, I’ve never seen such ugly feathers.”

“Don’t those get in the way?”

“That Crieff kid, he’s so _strange_ with those huge wings of his. What a weirdo.”

“Uh, sorry Martin, but it’s probably best if you don’t play with us. Your wings would just get tangled up and make us all trip or something. Maybe another time.”

-

It had been an accidental discovery, honestly. After all, what sane person went about their day trying to see whether or not they could fly? It was impossible, everyone knew that. Wings were ornamental and that was all, mere vestiges of the time when humans were prehistoric and brutish creatures who needed the advantage of flight to simply survive in a hostile world.  But as life had progressed, as it is always wont to do, the need for wings had faded with each new invention that the brilliantly clever and infinitely adaptable human race had devised along their path to superiority. Humanity had spurned the sky in favor of technology and slowly but surely as the generations passed and the need for flight had vanished, their wings had diminished. No longer were they the powerful and necessary limbs they had once been, instead shrinking down into elegant but entirely useless decorations for a race that no longer needed them. Wings could be many things: beautiful, expressive, flexible, even eloquent. But practical they never would be. Not anymore.

And so Martin had never expected, not in his wildest dreams or most daring fantasies, that the lonely experiments and games he devised in his backyard when no one would play with him would actually _result_ in anything. That would be absurd, utterly absurd – just because his wings were large and unusual did not mean that they were _special_. No, he had simply needed to make his own fun in the endless lonely hours of a childhood spent in forced solitude. None of the other children wanted to be friends with the ugly-winged freak after all, and he could hardly blame them for it. He hated his wings for the way they looked and their ridiculous size and the feathers that were both so painfully uneven and that horrible orangey-red color that had no place on feathers whatsoever. Wings had no reason to be so long they dragged their tips on the ground when he walked, or so broad he had trouble sitting in chairs not built to accommodate him, or filled with feathers that were large and rough and shaggy beyond belief. He would not have wanted to spend time with him, given the choice.

Left so very alone without friends or playmates or even siblings who were willing to do more than speak to him, Martin had needed to resort to entertaining himself in any way that he could manage. His imagination worked overtime, filing his head with a thousand hopes that he could never realize and even more dreams that would never come to life. He created whole stories and worlds in his head, busily living dozens of lives better and more interesting than his own in the space of a single afternoon. Let other children play sports or learn music or have groups of friends to spend their time with – he would live his life in a world not his own that was more fantastic than they could ever dream. But even so, even with the seemingly infinite variation and excitement that could come from his imaginary adventures, there were only so many ways one small boy could entertain himself with flights of fancy.

And so he had begun to experiment. It was nothing serious at first, nothing more than testing how fast he could run, how long he could hold his breath, how far and high he could jump. Jumping had been the most fun, and the most exhilarating, even with the knowledge that if his mother had seen him throwing himself off of increasingly tall objects she would have given him the tongue lashing of a lifetime. But there was something breathlessly wonderful about the rush of wind over his skin, the whistle in his ears, and the ruffle in his hated feathers as he plummeted down to earth. That moment, suspended in air, frozen in fear and yet so painfully alive, was the most fantastic thing that Martin had ever experienced. He began to jump off of higher and higher surfaces, pushing the limits of how far he could fall before he did himself a serious injury with reckless abandon. It began with a box, and then the small garden wall, followed by the roof of the tiny shed that was shoved into the corner of their yard. But even that was not enough. He needed more. And so, one day when his mother had been forced to leave him home alone for a few hours while she ran errands that his presence would only make exponentially more difficult, Martin had found his way onto the roof of their house looking down on the garden below as he prepared himself to jump.

He stood there frozen on the edge of the roof in fascinated fear, wondering if he was about to make a terrible mistake and still unable to turn back and climb down like a sensible person. For a nine year old boy that longed for even the tiniest bit of excitement in his life, the allure of the headlong rush was too strong to allow any such thing. He would be fine, wouldn’t he? Of course he would. He knew that there was no way for this to possibly go wrong.

Until, that is, he was plummeting down to earth far faster than he had ever fallen before and he knew in the split second of time that his brain was able to process that he would certainly not be fine. He was falling too far, too fast, and there was no taking it back now. The wind whipping through his hair now was not exhilarating, or wonderful, or thrilling in any way – it was terrifying, and it sliced at his skin with the promise of pain drawing ever nearer as the unforgiving ground approached with unstoppable swiftness. He would die, or certainly be horrendously injured, all because he had been so stupid to think that he could survive jumping off of his roof. Terror took hold and he thrashed desperately in a vain attempt to slow his descent or grab hold of something or do _anything_ to halt the inevitable, and in one last desperate effort, the ridiculous happened. His wings, the wings that were supposed to be mere ornament, snapped open.

It was not a conscious motion by any means, and it certainly did not result in flying of any sort. He still hit the ground, and hard, and still earned a twisted ankle for his willful and ignorant stupidity. But in that moment, when his wings extended outwards with a powerful surge of previously unused muscles and caught the rush of air flowing past them exactly as they were meant to, he had felt the slight lift they had given him. He had felt the way air had rushed over his feathers _just_ so, how his shoulders had strained to push his wings downward in instinctual reaction, how the wings that had been the source of endless teasing and undying shame had briefly surged to fulfill the duty they were created for. For just one moment, one brief and shining instant of consuming fear and terrified exhilaration, Martin had known what it was to ever so slightly taste flight.

-

“What on _earth_ were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry mum I –“

“You jumped off of the _roof_ Martin, the roof! You could have been killed!”

“I know, I’m sorry –“

“What were you even trying to do? Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know, I was...I…”

“Well?”

“I guess I wanted to see what would happen.”

-

From that day on, there was nothing for Martin but the dream of flying. Even if he had injured himself in his first disastrous attempt and was not able to walk for a week after the stunt that had earned him a half hour scolding from his exasperated mother, he knew that he would never be able to rest until he discovered just how far he could push his abilities. If he _was_ able to flex his wings so powerfully, something he had never previously considered, what else could he do? Could he learn to control them even when he was not falling off of a roof? Could he flap them? Could he _soar_ with them? The possibilities were too tempting not too explore. The moment he was able to stand again on his tender ankle, he hobbled out into the backyard that was to become his workshop and began to see just what these ridiculous wings could do.

It was beyond frustrating at first. No matter what he tried he simply could not get the lumps of bone and muscle and feather attached to his shoulders to cooperate, could not get them to do anything but quiver slightly as he strained and pulled in every which direction to get them to open wide once more. It was not until he was nearly driven to the edge of exhaustion and frustration that he remembered the whistle of wind through feathers, caressing each one in a way he had never imagined, catching so forcefully and yet so delicately in the perfect curve of an outstretched wing – and with that memory, they opened. It was as though the mere memory of his almost-fight was enough to spur his wings into cooperation, as though they yearned for the air and the wind and the sensation of soaring once more and had simply needed a reminder of what they could do. His wings opened, arching wide and powerful over his head as they lifted off of the ground and stretched into the waiting air. It was only for a brief minute before he lost control of them again, but it was enough. Martin knew that he could do it, that he could control his wings and that with enough hard work he could prove that they _were_ different for a reason. They were not useless ornaments, they were not meant to sit quietly and passively at his back, they were meant to move, to stretch, to fly.

His first flight was nearly a year later, after months of dangerous, tiring, brilliant work that almost drove him to distraction. With every day that passed he gained more control over his wings until he was able to open and close them at will, flexing them through their full range of motion in increasingly powerful and purposeful motions. Up and down, out and to the sides, stretching out and contracting in. He could even extend them with an impressive _snap!_ and close them quickly once more with a quiet _whoosh_. Now was the time. He was ready.

Heart pounding, hands shaking, breath coming fast and short, he climbed onto the roof of the garden shed one more time. He knew that he could survive that fall if all did not go according to plan, a thought that terrified him more than the idea of falling itself. He _needed_ this to work, he needed the last year of secret toil and effort to have not been in vain. He needed there to be a reason for him to be the way he was, a reason for him to be so very different and so very alone. If there wasn’t a reason, then he was nothing more than a useless, outcast freak, and he could not bear that. Standing on the edge of a roof once more, looking out into the distance this time instead of the ground below, he gave his wings a quick shake for reassurance. He _could_ do this. He must do this. With a deep breath and a wordless prayer, he jumped.

And he flew.

For the space of a few heartbeats, long enough to desperately flap his wings as he had practiced for so long, Martin had flown. He had felt the lift in his body, felt the air surge beneath his feathers, felt himself move forward in a motion that was unquestionably flight even as he fell down to the earth. It was not much, but it was enough. He could fly. He could _fly_.

Laughter, brilliant and pure and carried on wings of joy, pealed out into an empty garden.

-

_Should I show them?_

_I could show them. I could surprise them. I could finally surprise them all in a good way, show them the last thing they would ever expect._

_I could take mum and dad and Simon and Caitlin out into the garden and tell them that I found something wonderful. I could tell them to trust me, and climb up on the roof. Mum would scream, Dad would yell at me to get down, but I would go anyway. And then, when they’re holding their breath in fear and wonder, I could jump. I could fly._

_Would they be proud of me?_

_Or would they be frightened of me?_

-

Martin would never be able to really say why he kept his ability a secret. Oh true, there were lots of little reasons, tiny things that prompted him to never tell a soul that he was able to actually fly. He did not have anyone to tell, for one thing – his parents would have undoubtedly thought he was crazy, his siblings would not listen to him long enough for him to say it, and it was not as though he had any friends with whom he could share secrets. And he had never been the most talkative of people in the first place, not with the way he stammered and blushed and tripped over his own words whenever he was even the littlest bit nervous. Nor did he particularly _want_ to tell anyone, or go through the pain of being laughed at more than he already was, or be brushed aside, or –

But if there had to be one reason, one big and powerful enough to keep him silent for the decades to come, it was that he was afraid of being even more of a oddity than he already was. Wings weren’t for flying, everyone knew that. No matter that he had an ability no one else possessed, no matter that the feeling of lifting off from the earth was the most wonderful thing he had ever known – wings were not meant for flying. It was as simple as that. Martin knew that he was already an outcast, so why add freak to the list? And what would people do if they found out? Long hours of the night were spent awake, tossing and turning and worrying endlessly over what would happen to him if he were discovered. _They’ll send me away. They’ll perform tests on me. They’ll try to discover how I work. They’ll take the flying freak apart to see what makes me tick._

He never flew in front of anyone. In fact, he hardly flew at all, no matter how much he longed for the open sky and the thrill of wind in his wings. It was simply too dangerous, and Martin was not willing to take the risk for a few precious moments of soaring joy. The most he could allow himself were the brief jumps off of the shed when no one was home before he outgrew them, and the desperate moments in the middle of the night in the privacy of his room when he would close his eyes and flap his wings for all he was worth and pretend that it was enough. Every time he saw a bird soar overhead, every time the breeze would blow though the wings that were kept tucked into his back with careful closeness, every time he would dream of soaring through the clouds above, he ached for what he could not have.

And then, in the long hours of a night spent staring at the ceiling in wordless misery as he flitted and swooped amongst the clouds of his mind that were the only ones he would ever reach, it came to him. He may never be able to fly under the power of his own wings, may never be able to feel the joy of the ground dropping out from underneath him as his wings pumped powerful and strong, but perhaps there was another way. If he were a _pilot_ , if he learned to fly an aeroplane instead of relying on wings he could not ever hope to use, perhaps it would be close enough. Perhaps leaving the ground in a great behemoth of metal and power, feeling the engine roaring beneath him and knowing that he was in control of it all would fill the empty space in his heart that ached with every breeze that curled around his wings with promise and regret.

-

“You want to be a _what_?”

“A pilot, dad.”

“But sweetheart, where did you get this crazy idea from?”

“I don’t know mum, but I know that I want to do it. I know it more than I’ve ever known anything.”

“But isn’t it very difficult, darling?”

“I can do it, I know I can! I’ll work so hard that there will be no way I can fail.”

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t worry dear, he’ll probably forget all about it in a week or two. You know how the boy is. Besides, I think we should just be grateful that he didn’t decide that he wanted to be the aeroplane or something ridiculous like that.”

-

Years passed, as they always do. The dreams of flying never truly vanished – they were far too vivid and consuming for them to ever disappear from a heart that yearned for the sky with all of its being – but as the time slipped by and he did not take to the skies for fear of being caught, they faded into the background of a life that was caught up with other things. There was more to living now than exercising wings and jumping off of sheds, far more in fact, and far more important. Martin had responsibilities now, and duties, and in truth most days he was so exhausted from the burden of them all that he could not bring himself to even look out of the tiny attic window towards the sky that still called him. Dreams of flight became muted, dulled, softened. And besides, he had aeroplanes to fly him now. He could afford to put the song of the wind out of his mind if it could be replaced with the hum of an engine and the feeling of lift that was very nearly as good as the real thing.

Being able to fly an aeroplane, to harness all of that thrust and power and force and know that he was in control of it all, it gave him a reason to keep struggling through a life that never really seemed to turn around. He had thought, all those years ago, that once he became a pilot everything would settle into place as it always should. Even if he still had the strangest wings that anyone had ever seen and received nearly constant sideways glances and whispered comments and endless derision, he was a _pilot_ now – he was supposed to command respect. And even better than that, even better than he could have ever dreamed, he was the Captain. The one in charge of it all, the one who had the respect and obedience of his crew and the authority to do as he saw fit in the one matter that had ever been of any importance. What did it matter that he lived alone, that he had no friends, that he was so poor he struggled to feed himself, when he had that?

But he didn’t have it, not really. From day one at MJN Air, Martin had been the outcast once again. Carolyn’s eyebrows had shot straight into her hair the second he walked into the room for his interview, her beautifully deep and glossy black wings that glowed with a sheen of brightest emerald betraying her surprise with a gentle rustle, and a quick grin as she took in his nervousness telling him just how she would use that information for her benefit. Meeting Douglas had been just the same, although the smile that flashed over his face at the sight of the wings tucked carefully behind Martin’s back had been far more amused and the twitch of his achingly stylish and elegant charcoal grey feathers had contained only repressed laughter. Martin knew that the fact that he was the Captain above Douglas grated on him horribly, but the way that Martin so clearly stood out and apart with such ugly and absurd wings gave Douglas a topic for endless amusement and tiny jokes sent his way to alleviate the sting. Even Arthur, _Arthur_ had more beautiful wings than Martin did. In fact, Arthur possessed some of the most vibrant and colorful wings that Martin had seen in his entire life, the ruby red and sapphire blue and vibrantly brilliant yellow exploding out of his feathers with the same exuberance and joy that the man carried with him every moment of his life. They were, just as with the wings that everyone else but him had been graced with, a perfect expression of and compliment to his personality. Their movements were slight and unobtrusive, the delicate flutters that accompanied his laughter and indicated his nearly constant excitement an added means of communication that did not get in the way of his every movement. Martin burned with jealousy. He envied Arthur the joy of his wings, Carolyn the confidence of her intimidating and beautiful feathers, Douglas the simple authority and power that his elegant wings gave him. Everyone else was enriched by their wings, not dragged down to earth by them.

But, as he always did, Martin made do with what he could. He ignored the jokes from Douglas, the sideways comments from Carolyn, even the well-meaning and yet still somehow hurtful questions from Arthur. He _was_ the Captain, and that counted for something at least. And as time went by and he settled into his role at MJN, he even began to feel at home. Slowly but surely he and Douglas eased off the spikes of their relationship, no longer bickering for the sake of something to do in the long hours of boredom and gradually approached what could be called friends. Carolyn was and would always remain the sharply cynical and biting woman that she was, but even she began to soften towards Martin ever so slightly, no longer putting him in his place quite so harshly or so often and even then allowing a slight smile to soften the blow. It was a gradual process, so incremental that he hardly noticed it, but bit by bit Martin realized that he had found a place with his fellow misfits and outcasts.

Until, of course, the day when everything changed.

The day had begun so ordinarily that Martin would never have dreamed that it would be the one in which his life would come crashing down around him. It was just a simple flight from Fitton to Istanbul and back, an easy enough run to pick up a regular customer of theirs who was away on business and nothing more. Simple. It should have been so simple. The morning had gone off without a hitch so far – the cab had arrived on time, the paperwork and flight plans had been filed properly and on time, and Martin had even been able to walk out to GERTI early to begin his walkaround in peace and quiet. There was something indefinably wonderful about walking slowly through his beloved plane and preparing her for the flight to come, something that Martin would never admit to out loud and yet loved almost as much as the act of flying itself. Let Douglas give him a hard time for the thoroughness of his walkarounds and how long they took. Martin would simply shrug his shoulders and continue with a private smile.

He had reached the outside of the plane by now, walking slowly around the far side to inspect that all the crucial mechanisms and gears were clear and ready to function properly. A gentle smile was settled comfortably on his face as he looked over the landing gears, a simple song running through his head that he hummed tunelessly but happily as he thought about the flight to come. The run to Istanbul was lovely – just long enough to be interesting and yet not so long that soul-crushing boredom began to set in, and flying into that beautiful city in the afternoon was always a breathtaking experience. Today would be a good day, he could feel it.

A scream rent the air.

“DYLAN!” The agonized cry came from across the airfield by the office, so utterly broken and desperate and terrified that it cut straight to the core of whoever heard it. Whoever the woman who had screamed was, she was nearly out of her mind with panic. Martin froze in place next to the front landing gear of GERTI, startled by the sudden sound that had no place at all in the hustle and bustle of a busy airfield, swiveling his head to peer around his left wing to see what on earth could have caused someone to scream in that way.

 _There_. Across the tarmac, close to him but still agonizingly far, a child had wandered away from his mother. He was tiny, probably only three or four, and as children that age are so liable to do he had escaped in the blink of an eye to explore the fun new place that he had found himself. He had no idea how dangerous his path was, or that he was wandering directly out into the runway that was currently active, or that there was in fact a plane above him hurtling down to earth for a landing. _No, oh God no._ Martin was frozen in horror as he stared at the impending tragedy. There was no stopping that plane as it came in to land now, he could tell. If the pilot tried to pull up or swerve aside it would end in disaster for everyone involved, a disaster of truly catastrophic proportions. But Dylan, oh God Dylan was directly in the path of the plane and had no hope of getting out of the way in time. And there was no one close enough to save him, no one who could possibly get to him to pull him out of the way before the plane touched down. _I have to do something. I can’t do anything. But I have to do something._

Martin was moving before he even realized what he was doing. He could not just stand and watch after all, not when there was even the slightest chance that he could save a child from such a horrible fate. He was so far, so very far away, but he had to try. He ran as fast as his limbs could take him, sprinting desperately across the tarmac towards the boy who was still in the path of the rapidly approaching aeroplane. Lungs burning, limbs screaming, mind reeling, every part of him was focused on his goal. _I’m not going to make it. I can’t get there in time. I can’t save him_.

Suddenly, somehow, impossibly, he accelerated. He was moving faster, darting over the ground more quickly than he had ever moved before. It was impossible and yet – oh, but of course. His wings. His wings, the wings he had tried to force himself to forget even existed, the wings that he cursed for their clumsiness and hugeness and ugliness, had opened as he ran. He had not even meant to, had not meant to begin pumping the long-unused wings as he ran, but his desperation had overwhelmed the long-ingrained fear and shame that ruled his life and those wings had snapped open with a decisive crack and began to pump hard and strong. He was no longer running, he was flying, for the first time in years, and even as he felt as though he would pass out from the fear that was choking him, joy exploded inside of him as his feet left the ground.

Years of hard-won caution and hesitation were thrown to the passing winds in an instant. This was so _right_ , how could he ever do anything else? He pumped his wings harder and felt his heart soar along with his body as he darted over the tarmac far faster than he could have ever run, swooping over to the small boy who had just begun to realize that he was frightened of the chaos around him. The plane above was coming in hard and fast, but Martin was there just in time to reach down and pull the terrified and crying boy into his arms and off the pavement. With a quick pull and wrench to the side, his wings burned in a great final effort to carry the unaccustomed weight with him out of the path of the approaching aeroplane. Man and boy tumbled to earth, skidding painfully on the hard surface of the tarmac to be covered in dust and bruises and yet alive and whole and full to bursting with adrenaline-fueled energy.

His heart pounding harder than he had ever felt it beat before, Martin lay shocked and gasping on the ground as he recovered from the insane stunt he had just pulled. He’d done it. He’d saved the child. He’d done it. And no one had seen. A sigh of relief gusted out of him as he looked down at the crying child he cradled in his arms, a sigh that was cut instantly short by the shout that echoed across the tarmac.

“WOW!” The voice was familiar, too familiar. It was a voice Martin knew all too well, loud and bright and full of wonder, and one that made his heart drop down into his shoes in fear and horror. “Wow Skip, I didn’t know you could fly!”

 _Oh, no._ He looked up slowly, so very slowly in the vain hope that dragging this moment out would change the outcome somehow. But no, he could never be so lucky as that. Because there, standing on this side of the tarmac not fifty feet away from him, was the entire crew of MJN Air staring at him with mouths hanging wide open in shock. He had never seen them all looking so completely gobsmacked, especially not Douglas who always managed to keep himself cool and collected under any circumstances, but even though at any other time he would have reveled in the blank astonishment on their faces now he wanted to run far and run fast to escape them. They had seen. They had seen him flying. They had seen him fly across the tarmac with his own wings and now there was no possible way for him to take it back.

The next several minutes passed in a panicked blur. Sobbing mother and child were reunited in a flurry of tears and gratitude and heartfelt thanks that Martin accepted with distant and distracted mumbles. Even when the mother, choking on her tears as she hugged her frightened but unharmed child to her chest, offered Martin any sort of compensation he desired, he could do nothing but wave her off distractedly. How could he possibly focus on anything but the three amazed stares that were fixed on him with unwavering determination? Thankfully Carolyn had managed to silence Arthur before he blurted out anything else incriminating in front of those who had not seen the actual rescue, but Martin knew that the moment they were alone together he would be forced to explain himself. A thousand excuses and denials raced through his mind, each more absurd and implausible than the last.

_I can say that I was just running very fast. That it was a trick of the light. That my wings just look like that sometimes because I can’t control them. Would they believe that? Could they possibly?_

When the hullaballoo had finally died down, when the airfield had cleared and it appeared that things were at last beginning to return to some semblance of order, Martin was left shuffling and staring at the pavement and wondering whether or not he would be able to sink into it and disappear. He could feel himself shrinking under their unrelenting stares, deflating from the high of his success until he simply wanted to turn tail and run so he would not have to face the conversation to come. But he could not simply run away, no matter how badly he wanted to. Swallowing heavily, he braced himself for the inevitable.

“Listen Arthur, I don’t know what you thought you saw but,” he began in a hurried rush, shame rising with every word that fell from his lips, “I didn’t fly. I couldn’t have flown, no one flies, hahaha. I mean, that’d be silly, right? I was just running really fast and my wings well, I guess they got in the way and sort of flapped because you know how they are and…”

It was no good. The grin was returning to Arthur’s face like the slow dawning of the sun, and Martin knew with long experience that a torrent of enthusiastic words was soon to follow. Sure enough, with wide eyes and an even wider smile, Arthur cut in loudly saying “But Skipper, I saw you flying! You _flew_! That’s BRILLIANT!” Martin blinked slightly, unsure how to respond. True, Arthur did think that everything under the sun was brilliant, rendering his endorsement of Martin’s skills less ringing than it could have been. But just because it had not been unique did not make it any less genuine, since judging by the look on Arthur’s face he had meant every word that he said. But Martin had so long assumed that any discovery of his powers of flight would result in hysteria and judgment that  Arthur’s immediate acceptance left him reeling. “Have you always been able to fly Skip? Can you fly far? Can you do it again? Why don’t you fly _all the time_?”

“Uh, I, er” Martin stammered, face flushing a vicious red under the unrelenting force of Arthur’s questions. “I don’t –“

But Douglas cut him off before he could get any further, silencing both Arthur’s happy babbling and Martin’s nervous stammer with a quiet clearing of his throat. “While this is something I expect that I will never say again,” he began slowly, looking at Martin with an expression that he had never seen before and could not quite pin down, “I do believe that Arthur did manage to get a few good questions in there amidst the chatter. How long _have_ you been able to fly, Martin?”

“I –“ Martin cast about desperately for sign of reprieve, some way to escape from the situation that was spiraling out of control faster than he could possibly track it, but there was nothing. Nothing for it but to answer and pray this would not go as badly as he feared. Squaring his wings as determinedly as he could manage, he inhaled deeply and took the plunge. “Since I was about nine. I was playing in the backyard, seeing how far I could jump, that sort of thing, and I jumped off the roof.” Both Carolyn and Douglas’s eyebrows shot up in unison, their wings bristling their shared alarm and surprise. “I know, it was stupid. But I thought I could make the jump, and then I was falling and I panicked and I just…I just flew. Only a little bit, but enough to break my fall. And then after that, well I suppose I taught myself how to do it and I’ve been able to fly every since.”

Three matching sets of bewildered eyes stared at him in silence. Arthur was grinning like Martin hung the moon, although that was quite frankly his default expression whenever anything exciting happened, and Carolyn and Douglas were both watching him with such silent measurement that he could feel the nervousness inside him creep impossibly higher. What on earth were they thinking right now? “Listen, please, just…don’t tell anyone. I’m begging you, don’t say _anything_. I’ve managed to keep this a secret for this long and I can’t believe I let it out now but whatever you do please don’t tell a soul. Please.”

There was a moment of tense silence that was broken only by the hum and clatter of a busy airfield, until without warning Carolyn snorted out a quick laugh. Martin stared, not sure whether he was more offended or startled. At the moment surprise was winning, mostly because the last thing he had expected for Carolyn to do when faced with a flying pilot was laugh. But a smile far less predatory than the one she normally wore, although just as sarcastic, flashed quickly over her face as she shook her head at Martin and the open-mouthed stare he was still giving her.

“Only you, Martin, would discover that you can _fly_ by falling off of a roof.”

It was Douglas’s turn to snort now, an equally sarcastic grin on his face as he rolled his eyes slightly. “God, it _is_ rather appropriate, isn’t it?” he asked with a chuckle. “Tell me Martin, was choosing the name Icarus Removals based on personal experience then?”

Martin was quite sure that he looked an utter fool standing here staring at his coworkers with his mouth hanging wide open for so long, but he simply could do nothing else. He could feel his wings slowly coming down from their upraised defensive stance, deflating in his total shock at their reactions. They thought it was _funny_? They were not overly startled, or frightened, or disgusted by what he could do? Apparently not, and especially not Arthur, who still looked like a child at Christmas who had found a suspiciously bike-shaped present underneath the tree.

“Can I see your wings again Skip? I’ve never seen them all stretched out like that, I had no idea they were so big!”

Twenty minutes ago Martin would never have dreamed of agreeing to such a request, long years of bullying and merciless teasing having taught him well that anyone who wanted to see his wings surely had a cruel joke or prank lined up to throw at him. But this day had been so strange, so life changing, and Arthur’s face was so very sincere that after only a moment’s hesitation Martin began to fully extend his wings for the first time in years. He did not even indulge in this in the privacy of his own home anymore, keeping his wings firmly tucked as small as they would go into his back at all times as a sheer force of habit to keep the lowest profile possible. Muscles that had already been stretched to their limit today burned with the unaccustomed stretch as feathers rustled and separated, and wings that had not fully seen the light of day in years arched out behind his back to their fullest length. Martin shook slightly under the strain, feeling terrified and exposed and so incredibly alive all at once.

Arthur’s mouth was a perfect O of wonder. He somehow looked even more amazed as he gazed at Martin’s wings now than he had when Douglas had explained with infinite patience how DVD players contained tiny lasers that made them work. Even Douglas and Carolyn looked impressed in spite of themselves, although the looks did not last for long and were quickly replaced by their usual expressions of general disdain and mild amusement for the world at large. Martin folded his wings away again after a moment, the strain of holding them out straight too much for a body that had endured far too many shocks in too short a time. An awkward silence grew in the space between them, Martin entirely unsure how to proceed from this moment now that his greatest secret had been revealed and they had yet to respond.

Of course, Carolyn could not let him catch his footing for even a moment. Instead of any of the reactions that he had feared and anticipated, she shocked him one more time by stepping forward and tapping him gently on the chest with an outstretched finger. “Listen, don’t think that because you can _fly_ now I’m going to start paying you or anything like that. Don’t go getting too big for your britches – you still work for me after all and you have an aeroplane to fly.” Martin rocked back on his heels, staring at her in shock. What could she possibly be getting at? Did she really not care?

Apparently not, and to all appearances no one else in the crew did either. Douglas snorted once more, rolling his eyes in that way he had so perfected that suggested without words just how tiresome he found the world and all of its occupants. “Martin, too big for his britches? I think that horse is long out of the barn, Carolyn.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Carolyn sighed heavily, and rolled her eyes to match Douglas, all venom stolen from the gesture by the slight smile that was playing over her lips as she did so. “I never should have let him have the hat – it’s been all downhill from there.”

“Yes well, we’ll just have to make sure we don’t let him near an ocean at any point in the future. Who knows, if he learned to fly falling off a roof he might turn into a mermaid if he falls in some water.”

Carolyn’s slight grin flashed into a full smirk, and now everyone was smiling at Martin and he had no idea how to react. He stared at them all in shock, unable to understand what had just happened to him after his world had been completely shaken in a matter of minutes. When he did not answer their quips with his usual stammers of protest or feeble attempts at rebuttal, Douglas simply shrugged slightly and turned to make his way across the airfield towards the aeroplane that had been waiting for them for far too long. Arthur followed after him with a happy skip in his step, and Carolyn was soon after, although she turned back to look at him curiously and ask, “Well, aren’t you coming? We’re already running late for this damned flight and we haven’t even taken off yet. I would like to make _some_ money today, if that’s perfectly alright with you.”

Everything was…fine. They weren’t treating him any differently, not looking at him like he was a freak or there was something wrong with him – not any more than usual at least. They weren’t shying away from him, or glaring at him, or any of the other thousand things he had so feared in the long stretches of the night when he laid awake and worried about discovery. They had seen his wings in action, they had even discussed it, and they had accepted it. They had accepted _him_ , just as he was. A warm glow began to spread through Martin’s chest, burning away the icy chill of fear that had gripped his soul and replacing it with a happiness that he hardly recognized. His tired wings fluttered gently in the warm breeze that was ghosting through the airfield, spreading out unconsciously into the morning air as the tension drained from his body. It was as though they were free, truly free, for the first time in his entire life. He did not have to hold them tense and tight into his body, did not have to constantly account for their every moment, did not have to be aware and afraid of their presence. The wind moving through his feathers did not bring him pain now, only the promise of the open sky. For the first time since that fateful day in his garden so many years ago, hope bloomed in Martin Crieff.

With a quick shake of wings that no longer dragged despondently on the ground, Martin smiled a tiny smile of happy satisfaction and set off across the tarmac towards GERTI. He did have a plane to fly, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This story began as a [ficlet](http://mirabilelectu.tumblr.com/post/26684888562/homoerotic-watercolours-sometimes-i-just-want) attached to a beautiful piece of art by [homoerotic-watercolours](http://homoerotic-watercolours.tumblr.com) that may be found [here](http://homoerotic-watercolours.tumblr.com/post/26674964263). The credit for the inspiration for this story is due there. Also big thanks to [doctorsleuth](http://artbylexie.tumblr.com>artbylexie</a>%20for%20helping%20me%20with%20ideas%20and%20picking%20out%20feathers%20and%20<a%20href=) for beta-ing!


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